


This Bulletproof Bond

by fourfreedoms



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Codependency, Established Relationship, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Reunion Sex, Rough Sex, Rumination, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-13 00:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11747988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: He can hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head as he stares at the screen of his phone showing just how many miles his Uber driver still has to drive before he's at Jonny's place. “Hasn’t even been a month,” she’d say. “You’re too old for this.”





	This Bulletproof Bond

**Author's Note:**

> I got this prompt on tumblr: "reunion sex or rough sex OR reunion and rough sex?!?" and had to run with it. I wasn't quite expecting to run here. This is set right before the convention. 
> 
> Title is from "Fool's Gold" by Frenship, specifically the lines: "There's a bulletproof bond/Between me and you/It's hard to see beyond what's in sight/But when you tilt the light I realize."
> 
> (thanks as ever to cooliofoolios for telling me to post it when I wasn't sure!)

They’ve been defensive about their relationship for what feels like their whole lives, long before they started fucking. Codependent. Too far in each other’s pockets. Unhealthy. He thinks his mom suspected and worried long before there was anything to suspect. Maybe it’s not right, the way they are. But he’s given up on that. It is what it is. 

He can hear his mother’s voice in the back of his head as he stares at the screen of his phone showing just how many miles his Uber driver still has to drive before he's at Jonny's place. _“Hasn’t even been a month,” she’d say. “You’re too old for this.”_

“You gotta wonder how much of this is because we’re both men,” Jonny has said before, unable to stop picking at it, forever analyzing and trying to quantify and understand the scope of their relationship. How it is that they could be so entangled. _On a scale of one to Romeo and Juliet, just how unhealthy is this relationship?_

Fuck it. 

He can’t change. 

He doesn’t want to. 

And that night, when he’s barely through the door and Jonny is on him, a forearm around his waist and a hand at the back of his head, keeping him pressed close as he kisses Patrick like he would fuse them both together if he could, he’s got enough proof in his heart that all the doubters are wrong anyway. 

“I love you,” Jonny says reverently against the back of his neck when they’re naked and Patrick’s braced on his hands and knees on the bed, waiting for Jonny to push inside. He hisses, because maybe it was only a month, but it’s long enough that his body has forgotten how to accommodate the width of Jonny’s cock. _How long can he go without Jonny needing to remind him? Is it three days, two days—wait, you’re kidding, only one day?_

Patrick mostly bottoms out of necessity, Jonny’s so sensitive inside and Patrick’s cock is big, but he’s grown to love this, to need this, to shiver and fist his hands in the sheets as Jonny glances right across that perfect spot inside. 

“Fuck, is that all you got?” he bites out, even as he’s screwing his eyes up tight, toes curling as it happens again, once, twice. 

Jonny smacks an open palm over one of his ass cheeks. “Don’t get cute with me,” he says, but there’s laughter in his voice, and he hears it for the demand that Patrick can never quite verbalize to him, thrusting in fast and strong, a hand closing on Patrick’s shoulder to pull him back into it. 

Patrick groans and keeps his hands off his junk, because he’ll come if he does, and he wants, needs, this to last, and Jonny will hold off forever, because he’s a show-offy dickhead like that. 

‘S important to me, he’ll say, as he sits back on his heels, and hauls Patrick onto his lap so that he can touch everything, see everything, wrap himself around Patrick like he’s a smaller man than he is. And Patrick wants to hate it. _Don’t you ever get tired of cliches?_

But he lives for those moments—Jonny’s hands all over him, his teeth ghosting over a spot behind his ear. 

Although, not today. Today he wants to feel it, for the twinge in his muscles to mean Jonny had him in their bed after too long apart, not that he overextended himself in his latest workout. 

Jonny gets it, pushing him flat on the mattress, his knees braced to the outside of Patrick’s so that he can really get his back into it, pound him into the mattress. 

Patrick swears, brows furrowed inward on a grimace, curling his fingers around the wrist that Jonny’s using to hold himself up, closing his grip so tight Jonny’ll have bruises tomorrow. The slick squelch of Jonny’s lubed up cock sliding into him bare, the slap of his hips against Patrick’s ass, and the harsh gasps of their breathing obscene in their quiet bedroom. The headboard’s too secure to slam against the wall, but god knows they’ve tested it. 

Jonny always wants him to come first, even when it's not convenient to do so, but it’s not going to happen that way today. Patrick can feel it in the tension in Jonny’s body, the way he keeps stuttering on Patrick’s name. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he says, jerking his hips into Patrick two more times, giving him the entire length of his cock in a way that makes Patrick quiver and cry out, before he comes. 

Patrick smiles into the sheets and Jonny nips at him, playful. _Why all this competition? A relationship is not a race._

He pulls out carefully, the flared head making Patrick wince as it pops past his rim. Jonny’ll blow him if he asks, or eat him out, but Patrick wants something a little less remote, something that’ll keep Jonny's mouth at his level, pretty pink lips with that dash of a scar going through it, ever so kissable.

“Lend me a hand?” he asks as he rolls over, turning onto his side to face him. It’s easiest when they’re back to front, but Jonny gives a good hand job even so, really listening to Patrick and all his cues in ways that no other lay ever did. 

“Fuck, look at your cock,” Jonny says like it’s news, his big hand only just able to close around Patrick’s flushed length. He remembers the first time Jonny ever took him in hand, the same hungry curiosity in his voice even then. 

Patrick shuts him up with his mouth, fingertips twisting on the short strands at his nape as he gets close, flexing back into Jonny’s grip. He spent years getting himself over the edge imagining himself buried deep in Jonny when he did this for himself, that beautiful round ass filled up with his cock. But sometimes, now, he has to picture it the other way, Jonny sinking inside him with abandon as Patrick jerks himself off. Patrick is due a turn on the other side, but that’s not what gets him off tonight. He comes thrust up against Jonny’s grip, flashing back to just seconds ago, Jonny fucking himself back into Patrick’s heart and lungs and mind. 

But he is due a turn and he can’t help saying so when he’s got his wits back enough to form a sentence, his hand skimming down Jonny’s back to play his fingertips over Jonny’s hole. 

“Gotta get myself warmed up,” Jonny says with a laugh. “Do some lunges first.” 

Patrick snorts. But then Jonny says what he always says, “Whenever you want,” as he tilts Patrick’s chin so that he can brush a kiss across Patrick’s parted lips. 

And that’s the thing. Jonny would. Even though it isn’t as easy. He would. And was that not love?


End file.
